


instant gratification

by sirenofodysseus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: CBI Kink Meme, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Rigsby also likes strip clubs, The day the entire CBI thought about sex, a lot of good kink -- but it's just all mentioned, first kiss (mentioned), handcuffing gone wrong (mentioned), meta-ish, orgasms (mentioned), orgy (mentioned), tentacle sex (mentioned), this fic is slightly crack-y
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:32:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5692924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, that time someone created a kink meme of the CBI employees. Set late S4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	instant gratification

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have _no_ idea what I just wrote, but you're very welcome. This story is set after 4x20 (Something Rotten in Redmund), but waaaaay before 4x23 (Red Rover, Red Rover). 
> 
> I own nothing, obviously.

            Wainwright is ending yet another budget meeting, when he suddenly clears his throat and looks semi-uncomfortable.

            “One of our IT employees, Saturday afternoon, stumbled upon a website unrelated to our current CBI.gov website for citizens. According to Ben, our IT guru, someone has started a kink meme for Bureau individuals.” He pauses to glance about the conference room, while people mutter. “A kink meme is where people leave people leave prompts with names and sexual acts, so other people can write out fictional accounts of these sexual occurrences.

            “Ben and myself approached Director Bertram, however, and as this site is not directly breaking any local or state laws; we are not able to dismantle the website at this moment in time.”

            “Why mention it then?” Senior Agent Jones of the Narcotics unit asks.

            “Because I cannot stress how vital it is to stay off the website. We’ve blocked the website from internal severs, but out of a desire to avoid a second workplace-wide sexual harassment seminar, we ask that you respect yourselves and your units by not poking around on the website.” Wainwright crosses his arms against his chest. “We’re doing all that we can to take the website down, but until then, please debrief your units. You are all dismissed.”

 

::::

 

            “How uncomfortable did Wainwright look?” Jane asks the moment Lisbon finishes her word-from-word relay of Wainwright’s ramble. Lisbon eyes Jane, unsurprised. “The subject of sex always makes little boys uncomfortable.”

            “Why does that even matter?” Lisbon asks, glancing at him, before she narrows her eyes.  “Please tell me you had nothing to do with this. You were awfully nonchalant when I mentioned it.”

            Van Pelt snorts from her desk, forcing everyone to glance at her. “It took him a good _six hours_ to fix his I-9 in the computer last week.”

            Jane grins. “Guilty as charged. I just don’t understand the internet.” He stands from his couch and steps past Rigsby’s desk, only to double-back to the kitchenette. Lisbon shakes her head. She _supposes_ Jane’s involvement in something sexual (or technological) would have signaled the end of the world, so there goes her number one theory.

            “Isn’t the website a violation of privacy?” Rigsby asks and Cho, from his desk, shakes his head.

            “No,” he replies.

            “Sexual harassment?”

            “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Jane asks, returning from the kitchenette with a second cup of tea in one hand and Rigsby’s iPhone in his other. “Did you know, Lisbon, our unit is the most popular subject to write about?” Jane chuckles; ignoring Rigsby’s confusion at _how exactly did he get my phone_? Jane, in response, tosses the phone back to Rigsby and lingers over his shoulder.

            “You can operate an iPhone, but you can’t figure your way around a company computer?” Lisbon asks and Jane nods. “There’s something wrong with you.”

            Jane winks at Rigsby. “Have fun reading those. Maybe,” he pauses to waggle his eyebrows, much to Van Pelt and Rigsby’s displeasure. “You’ll find some inspiration.”

            “I’m with Sarah, Jane. I have a _kid_.”

            “So?” Jane asks. “That doesn’t stop someone from doing _it_ or stop someone from thinking about you and…” he glances back down at Rigsby’s screen. “…Van Pelt, going at each other.” Jane chuckles again, before adding. “You should take the advice this person has. I mean, how hard would it be to have tentacle sex?” He pauses to glance over Van Pelt and Rigsby. “I suppose you’d have to gain tentacles first, hm, but other than that…”          

            “Jane!” Lisbon yells. The consultant doesn’t even _bother_ to look sheepish. “Stop encouraging this. Rigsby put your phone away. Now.”

            Rigsby does so. “It’s not my fault he stole my phone, boss.”

            “Yes, please,” Jane finally replies, after he’s moved back toward his couch. “Blame everything on me. I’m just reiterating the point of someone else!”

            “You stole my phone and _you_ found the website!”

            “One, you shouldn’t have had your phone in your pocket. Two, I only did what you were silently asking me to do,” Jane chastises him. Lisbon only sighs. Why had she followed Wainwright’s directions? If the meme had stayed quiet, she could have just gotten through her entire day without _this_. “Anyway, there’s quite a few interesting posts about yourself, Lisbon. Curious yet?”

            Lisbon blinks and then, scowls. “Drop this nonsense.”

            “Actually,” Rigsby chimes in, glancing at his phone again—much to Lisbon’s chagrin. “There’s a lot. _Teresa Lisbon/Kimball Cho. Cho doesn’t like to talk to anyone, but Lisbon in bed._ ” There’s a moment of awkward silence.

            “That’s ridiculous,” Grace speaks again, rolling her eyes. “This whole meme thing has to be a way of getting us all back into a _second_ sexual harassment seminar.” Lisbon wholeheartedly agrees as her eyes go to Cho, who seems rather unbothered by the idea of a sexcapade between them both. “Which, by the way, I still blame Jane for.”

            Everyone else (aside from Cho nods).

            Cho merely shrugs. “It’s just sex.”

            “It sounds like you both would be doing way more than just sex,” Jane points out and Cho eyes him. Lisbon thinks about strangling him, as Jane stands over Rigsby’s shoulder again. “You should be flattered, Lisbon. The internet likes you, and so does every other male in the CBI apparently.” He squints, before he glances up at her. “Someone’s even prompted you and Minelli; and he doesn’t even work here anymore.”

            That thought makes her shudder and it makes her skin crawl.

            “No,” she answers, both to the idea of herself and Minelli and the _kink meme_ in general. “It’s disgusting.”

            “Not to mention, gross,” Van Pelt adds. “Why would anyone want to think about their co-workers in _that_ way? Those types of things are meant best for fictional characters, not real life co-workers.” Lisbon can think of a _few_ reasons and judging from Jane’s cat-got-the-canary grin, she can tell he’s probably reaching the same conclusions. She almost considers telling him that _voyeurism_ is not a good enough reason, but Jane’s already opening his mouth.

            “Do you want to tell her, Lisbon or should I?”

            Rigsby clears his throat, after another moment of awkward silence. Lisbon watches him slide his phone into his desk. “Maybe, we _should_ refocus on finishing yesterday’s paperwork.”

            “I second that,” Van Pelt says, her cheeks stained bright red, as she turns back to her own workstation.

            “I’ll be in my office,” is all Lisbon gives, before she’s gone. Entering her office and drawing the blinds, Lisbon forces her attention on the Gillespie expense report for Wainwright but Rigsby’s (and Jane’s) words weigh on her mind. She’s not curious at all about what people have written, about her, but for the sake of her team’s reputation, she thinks she should—at least—monitor the webpage for anything unsavory. It’s the last she can do anyway, aside from learning how to hack.

            Pulling out her phone, she finds the meme within minutes as the _CBI_ isn’t exactly a popular abbreviation; scrolling down the page, she notices a few prompts involving the Narcotics intern and Joe, for Internal Affairs, which confuses the hell out of her—before she stumbles upon her own name and thinks, _Rigsby and Jane weren’t kidding_. She sees the prompt Rigsby mentioned and then, she sees her name and Jane’s in the next twenty anonymous posts. Some of the posts are tame— _Jane/Lisbon; first kiss_ —but most of them are not and _holy shit_ , she doubts she’ll never be able to work (let alone, see) Jane without blushing—or, at the very least, not without taking a cold shower afterwards.

            “See anything you like, Lisbon?” Jane asks her and Lisbon nearly jumps out of her skin, phone clattering beneath her desk and her eyes wide, as she finds Jane. He’s sitting on her couch, looking quite amused with himself. She immediately grimaces at him; as she bends down to retrieve her phone. “You have to admit, someone has an extremely active imagination.”

            “Don’t you have something better to do?” Lisbon questions, after she has her phone in her hands again. He shrugs at her and she rolls her eyes. “You can’t just keep sneaking up on people, Jane!”

            “In my defense, I did knock,” he gives. “You were just too busy with your…” he flashes her another grin. “…instant gratification.”

            Her hand finds one of her spare pens to fiddle with. “Knock it off.” The last thing she needs—or wants—is Bertram (or god forbid, Wainwright) overhearing Jane’s remark. “I’m not above arresting you.”

            “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Jane responds, innocently and she opens her mouth to ask _why_. “You’d be feeding into the world of depraved sexual fantasies by handcuffing me.” Lisbon blinks. “ _Patrick/Teresa; handcuffing gone wrong.”_

            “Will you stop quoting _it_?” Lisbon asks, her voice nearly breaking—because even _she_ can’t deny she’s had that fantasy herself. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

            “How about from Cho?” Jane replies. Lisbon throws one of her pens at him, forcing him to laugh and duck. “Oh come now, Lisbon. You know this is the most excitement we’ve had in ages!” He grins.  

            “It’s wildly inappropriate.”

            “Do you think anyone actually cares, aside from Wainwright?” Jane questions, before he shrugs again and leans forward on her couch. “It’s almost _flattering_ to be an object of multiple sexual fantasies, isn’t it? I mean, you alone, are fictionally linked with almost _everyone_. _Van Pelt/Lisbon; Grace tops, Lisbon likes it._ _Rigsby/Lisbon; simultaneous orgasms. Bertram/Lisbon; sex in public._ ” He pauses. “The list just goes on and on, but don’t fret! I’m paired with Van Pelt, Rigsby _and_ Cho, several different times in all kinds of interesting—and quite possibility illegal—moves.”  

            “All of this.” Lisbon motions toward her phone, before she continues, “is a _major_ form of sexual harassment. No matter how amused you and everyone else are by it, I’m never going to be able to look anyone—especially Agent Wainwright—in the eye again.”

            “Too busy imagining a spanking from…?”

            “If you finish that sentence, I _will_ personally recommend that you be reassigned to a different unit. You’ll be working with Agent Tomkins in Missing Persons.” Jane’s mouth shuts. “That’s what I thought.” She shakes her head and goes back to her expense report. Ten lines from finishing it, Lisbon notices that her phone is missing and she only sighs. She tries her best to ignore him, until she’s six lines down and he’s pushing the phone in her face. “What? I’m trying to finish this paperwork.”

            “Someone really likes the idea of you and Ray,” Jane tells her, before she pries the phone from his hands to stare at the prompt in horror.

            _Ray Haffner/Teresa Lisbon. She’s been a very, very bad girl._

 

::::

 

            Wainwright pinches the bridge of his nose, after he hangs up on Agent Darcy of the FBI. It’s been an awful day and Darcy’s call about the kink meme— _“Who in the hell did you tell about us, Luther?”_ —doesn’t help abate the migraine, which sits just behind his eyeballs.

            It’s not _his_ fault that someone—maybe the shift intern from Narcotics _or_ Patrick Jane—had imagined him and Susan in multiple positions and multiple scenarios around the CBI. Hell! It’s not even _his_ fault that someone’s imagined Agent Lisbon spanking him—but as he’s in charge of the entire CBI, it’s automatically his fault that someone’s horny and forced all CBI employees to suffer through too.

            Wainwright stares at his email inbox, grimacing; a quarter of the emails, he notices are all directed to the kink meme mess while the other half is dedicated to Patrick Jane and his many “methods of persuasion” before he decides to phone Bertram again.

            “I’m sorry again, Agent Wainwright,” Bertram’s secretary, Julie greets. “He’s _still_ out of the office and per usual, I’ll be quite happy to pass off your _tenth_ message when he returns. Till then, have a lovely day!”

            He thinks, as he sets the phone down and rests his head on the cool desk, how much he needs a vacation.

::::

 

            Rigsby manages to drag both Van Pelt and Cho to lunch, shortly after Jane disappears into Lisbon’s office. Instead of leaving the premises, mainly because Van Pelt’s _mildly_ concerned that Lisbon might bludgeon Jane to death with her gun, they all trudge to the rooftop and grab lunch from the food cart.

            Jenna, the food cart vendor, offers the three of them a salacious grin as she’s preparing Rigsby’s hotdog. Rigsby doesn’t seem to notice, but Van Pelt does and nearly tells the eager employee to _keep it in your pants_ , but doesn’t as she’s not crude.

            “Jenna’s always so nice,” Rigsby comments, after they’re seated. Van Pelt bites her tongue, opens her salad. Cho follows suit with his own sandwich. “She always gives me extra relish without asking.”

            “It’s a code for sex,” Cho finally tells him. Rigsby eyes him. “She wants to have sex with you.”

            “Or with the three of us,” Van Pelt adds, thinking back to the time Jenna gave her _extra_ whipped cream in her hot chocolate. “It’s hard to say though.”

            Rigsby continues his staring. “Stop it. Someone _can_ be nice, you know, without needing an ulterior motive.” He takes another bite of his hotdog. “For example, Wainwright’s nice to Darcy and they’re professional.”

            “They’re also going at it,” Cho answers, much to Rigsby’s (and Van Pelt’s) surprise. “Nobody has that many meetings, without an ulterior motive or a payment plan.”

            Rigsby sputters. “What? No! I saw those prompts. There’s no way in…” He goes silent, before he places his half-finished hotdog down. “I’m even more disturbed now.”

            “As I said before,” Van Pelt adds again, “It’s gross.” Rigsby glances down at his phone again and makes a face and she wonders how many of those prompts are based on fact or fiction? She pulls his phone over to her, amidst Rigsby’s complaint, and reads the prompt that Rigsby’s face twitched about.

            _Rigsby/Cho. Sensory deprivation._

            She also sees the story beneath it and can’t help but skim the six-paragraph story, involving blindfolds and a blowjob underwater that almost makes her do a double-take.

            She’s not even sure if that’s doable, honestly. If it is, she wonders how the prompter tested it. Did they have a partner, willing to suffer through hours of underwater sex? Or was there a bathtub involved? She’s kinda sad the poster’s anonymous, as she has so many questions.

            “Why care?” Cho asks, glancing at Rigsby. “You two probably did worse.”

            Van Pelt immediately blushes, glancing up for a moment. They never actively did anything above making out and having missionary-style sex, but she’s not about to discuss her sex life with Cho. So, she scrolls until she finds a new prompt (not involving herself/Rigsby, herself/Jane or herself/Cho) while Rigsby sputters about his _outstanding_ sexual knowledge.

            “Ew. Someone prompted Gale Bertram and Luther Wainwright! Disturbing, on _so_ many different levels.”

            “Bet you, it’s that imp from payroll,” Rigsby declares, apparently having regained his appetite as he’s munching on a fry. “Carl was _always_ into porn at the academy.”

            “How in the world do you know that?” She asks him in disbelief, because she doesn’t understand _how_ he knows that—but doesn’t understand when someone’s generally interested in stripping him down and going to town with his penis.

            “I’m not completely oblivious, Grace. Give me a break,” Rigsby tells her, rolling his eyes. “I worked on a project once with Carl; guy had nice hair, but half of his computer’s files were named after women at the Lusty Lady.” Rigsby pauses and glances around, while Van Pelt stares at him. “Not that I’ve uh…ever been, but from the name, it’s obviously a strip joint—that I’ve never been to…”

            “He also has no insight into women,” Cho replies, matter-of-factly, as a story about Rigsby and Lisbon catches her attention; she tries to focus on their bickering, but the eight-paragraph story keeps her invested enough to keep her eyes on his phone screen.

            “…not my…women…complicated.”

            “…blind.”

            Van Pelt shakes her head and tries to focus intensely on Rigsby’s and Cho’s conversation, but fictional-Rigsby’s doing Jell-O shots off fictional-Lisbon’s stomach, which suddenly seems _way_ more important than any conversation detailing Rigsby’s lack of knowledge in women. Or, his history of how he may-or-may-not-have attended a strip joint called the _Lusty Lady_ in his academy days.

            “…think, Grace?”

            She’s sure her eyes are dazed over, when she finally glances up from the phone and glances at Rigsby again. “You are.”

            Rigsby grimaces at her. “At least, _I_ was amazing in bed.”

            Van Pelt suddenly twists her head to stare at him, phone clattering onto the table’s surface as she crosses her arms against her chest. “And you’re saying I _wasn’t_?” She leans across the table to smack his arm. “Excuse me! I don’t recall _you_ faking any orgasms, unlike _seven_ out of the fifteen times when you claimed you _blew my mind_! Newsflash, Wayne, you didn’t! I was bored and had to rely on myself, afterwards.”

            Cho shakes his head, before he finishes off his sandwich and brushes away any stray crumbs from his person as Rigsby suddenly looks highly uncomfortable and scared. “Idiot.”

 

::::

 

            Sitting next to Jane on her couch, thanks to his persistent badgering, Lisbon grimaces as he suggests different names much worse than her own and Haffner’s.

            “Bertram and Wainwright,” Jane pitches, glancing at her phone. “Could you imagine the awkwardness behind that?” He chuckles, before he whistles lowly. “Ah, no imagination needed. _Bertram/Wainwright – animalistic impulses_.” Jane pauses to eye the support beams above them and Lisbon thinks, she might just die from the thought of those two going at it—in any capacity. “There really _is_ a person out there for everyone, Lisbon.” He glances back down at her phone. “Oh and _look_. _Serious Crimes Unit; orgy_. Now, that’s a prompt to get truly excited over!”

            “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop reading it,” Lisbon tells him, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The people you’re mentioning aren’t _fictional_ , they’re real; and I have no desire to think of anything happening between anyone— _especially_ Bertram and Wainwright or our team, in that way.”  

            “In what way?” Jane asks, innocently and Lisbon eyes him. “ _Oh_ , you mean in a sleazy and quite possibly, not innocent way?” She nods. “I still think you’re missing out, Lisbon. The prompts involving you and Agent Wainwright are _quite_ amusing, but anything for you. I won’t even mention the one prompt involving Walter Mashburn, you and a fruit of your choosing, as it’s my olive branch to you.”

She pulls away from him, half-disgusted, only to pry her phone from his hands. “Thanks, I think. I’m going to go get lunch. As for you?” She pauses to stare down at him, crossing her arms against her chest. “I don’t care _what_ you do, as long as you stop reading those prompts. Am I clear?”

            “Australian-crystal clear,” Jane tells her, moving from her couch. “You’re in luck, however. I haven’t eaten anything today, so I’ll keep you company.” Lisbon blinks and he laughs. “Relax, Lisbon. I’ll be an absolute gentleman _and_ I’ll even pay for whatever you want.”

            Lisbon doesn’t falter, although she’s positive that Jane’s lying about both the food and the gentleman-y thing, but that doesn’t stop her from grabbing her wallet. Free food from Jane, after all, is still free food. “Yeah, _sure_. Come on.”

            He side-eyes her, after they’ve strolled past the serious crimes unit bullpen. “Are you _absolutely_ positive that you don’t want to hear about Grace and Agent Wainwright though?” Lisbon grabs his shoulders and forces him behind her. “There’s even a prompt involving _forced feminization_ , Lisbon! Something about Luther wearing Grace’s high-heels and the third floor…”

            She disappears into the elevator and the doors close, before he can even finish his sentence.


End file.
